The Cookie

My co-worker Allison and I made our first business trip as
fabric buyers to the Big Apple in the early 90's. We arrive at JFK
early in the morning, retrieved our luggage and grabbed a cab. We are
staying in what we were told was the hippest hotel in the city. We are
so excited.

The cab pulls up to the hotel where we're met by the doorman. He's
wearing a grey Nehru jacket with charcoal slippers, his hair is jet
black. He looked quite emaciated, and I had my doubts as to whether he
could lift our bags. Frankly, he just didn't look well, his jacket and
skin were the same shade of grey. My instinct is to help the poor, pale,
malnourished guy so I reach for my bag, to place it on the cart. He
snapped "put that down" and glared at me. So, I drop it like it's hot
(props to Snoop Dogg.) We follow the little fellow into the lobby where
there's more grey. Every shade from light to charcoal. It was like
walking into a storm cloud. All ominous and moody.

Then a guy who looks just like the doorman appears behind the desk. I
look at Allison, she looks at me...... isn't that the doorman? We're
checked in with no conversation, given our keys and told to wait by the
elevator, someone would be right with us. Sure enough the doorman desk -
clerk appears. We all get into the elevator... after what seems like a
life time we arrive at our floor, get to our room where the doorman
takes our bags off the cart and stands glaring waiting for his tip...
"I've got a tip for you... eat a sandwich in the sunlight little
man" (I say this to myself of course.) I give him five bucks. Begone.

Finally alone, we start laughing uncontrollably... okay... it's the same
guy, right ? We agree. It's the same guy, or we're not in a hotel at
all, but a cloning laboratory made to look like the hotel and if that's
the case, I'll take the first watch. We take a look around the
exceptionally small intensely grey room. The only bright spot is the
food that the "Hotel" has kindly left for us to consume. We are
famished. So we each take a large cellophane wrapped cookie - unwrap and
start to eat. Half a cookie into it, I read the wrapper. Oh My God...
SEVEN dollars....Allison stop eating! Like the scene, from the movie
"Big" cookie comes flying out of mouths. We work for a crazy man and
were told specifically not to order anything from room service nothing
additional was to appear on the bill! Okay, okay, we can fix this. We
had both eaten about half a cookie each, so we take the remaining half
and make one. Re-wrap and Ta Da a whole cookie. We'll simply pay cash
for the one we ate. We place the cookie back from whence it came (kind
of) it wouldn't go exactly in the same spot, but close enough (we
thought.)

We leave and go on with the first day of our three day trip (we had a
few adventures along the way - best left for another post.) On the day we check out the doorman shows up, takes our bags and goes
ahead of us to the lobby. Further evidence there is only one guy doing
every job in the hotel. We once again find only the two of us in the
lobby waiting for the "desk - clerk" to check us out. He finally shows
up and presents us with the bill. You guessed it - in big, bold jet
black letters, mini bar - fourteen dollars. Honestly WTF how did that
happen.. we put it back (we learn there are no put backs in a mini bar
land.) We pay cash for the cookies and much to his disgust we insist the
desk - clerk reprint the bill minus our cookie fiasco.

We wait in the lobby while outside the doorman is hailing us a cab. As
we walk out of the lobby into our waiting cab, I see out of the
corner of my eye the desk-clerk, on the phone. Oh. My. God. the desk
clerk and the doorman are not the same person, but two people who look
exactly the same. Clones. I knew it. Lucky we kept watch.